


if you can't feel alive

by zombeesknees



Category: James Bond (Movies), The World Is Not Enough (1999)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: Some destructive villain love featuring Elektra and Renard of "The World Is Not Enough." | Written for a Chrimbo advent calendar many moons ago on LJ.





	if you can't feel alive

The moment she was within his grasp, after months of planning, he had to pause to marvel at her magnificence. Beautiful, fresh, a brilliant mind behind that lovely face. Her eyes flashed defiance and fear that first meeting, and when his breath hitched in his throat he knew she would be his undoing.

That didn’t stop him from undoing the laces of her dress.

\---

Three weeks later, and her beguiling innocence had turned into bewitching experience. And that night his ransom demands were refuted, by a desperate father who had placed his faith in a fallible government.

When he told her, a chill hardness settled across her features. She changed into something new, but remained nothing less than perfect in his eyes. 

“So,” she said coldly, trailing a warm hand down his arm, the gentle touch sending shivers across his skin. “My father would prefer to keep his five million than see me again.”

“So it would seem,” he’d replied noncommittally, before his jaw tightened into a hotter emotion. “He is a fool. You are worth more than any amount of money, more than fifty of me.”

“You realize they will send someone after you,” she said. “A hardened killer.”

“They will find me a difficult man to stop,” he promised.

She pushed herself up from the mussed bedclothes, her dark hair a smoky tangle around her pale face. “They refuse to pay with money, preferring blood.” Her voice was sharp, bitter, and in her face he saw an anger and a thirst he knew well. He had come to realize, in their time together, that she was more than his equal. 

“We have no need for their money,” he said slowly, knowing full well what her reply would be. He pulled her close and kissed the dark lips before they could part in protest. “We could leave now—my men could have us away within an hour. Off to my stronghold in Cambodia, or Bosnia, away from them. We could be together, undisturbed and happy.”

“No,” she said with heat, her fingers digging into his chest as she pushed herself back. “I want what is _mine_. My birthright. My destiny. My father’s fortune and repute rests on what he stole from my mother—from _me_. I will have what I am entitled. Then, darling, _then_ ,” she cupped his face with her hands, pressed her soft lips to his cheeks and mouth. “Then we can be together. With the world at our feet.”

“If that is what you want, Elekta,” he whispered, his heart sinking. Somehow, even then, at that moment with the woman he loved in his arms, he felt a creeping darkness. He knew they would not be together, if they went forward with her plan. That night, he could sense his death approaching. Though he had no idea how long it would be in coming…

But when he stared into those bright eyes, glittering with excitement and youthful joy, he knew he would die before he disappointed her. His captive had stolen his heart, and he wanted it back as much as he wanted to leave her.

“I could never deny you,” he murmured, and she dazzled him with her smile before pulling him down beside her. He lost himself in the soft swells of her breasts and the smooth curves of her hips, tangling his hands in her dark hair and relishing the soft moans she left in his ear. She was all fire and sinuous grace beneath him, and he memorized her anew as he trailed kisses down her neck, ice cubes down her stomach.

\---

“You’ll have to hurt me,” she said firmly, face set with determination. “It would not look convincing enough, were I to escape in one piece.”

“No, never,” he refused her, jaw tightening. “You ask me to do that—I would rather cut off my hand before I hurt you.”

“Then I’ll do it myself.”

He turned sharply away when she raised the knife, and when it was done he was quick to press a wet cloth to her ear. 

“It’s alright,” she said shakily, smiling through the pain, kissing him as the blood trickled down her neck. “Even pain has its purpose. What have you taught me, my love?”

“It’s not worth living,” he said readily, with conviction. “If you can’t feel alive.”

“And I feel alive—gloriously alive. The pain will keep me sharp, keep me focused to our task,” she promised. “This pain, and the pain of leaving you.”

He pulled her close, savoring this last moment of her, breathing her in, knowing that when she was gone it would be so much harder to breathe, harder to think clearly. He did not know how he could act dispassionately after this—surely he would find his feelings too difficult to ignore. “Give me four months to get things into order, my dearest,” he promised. “Four months, and your father will have paid for his transgressions. Four months, and we can be together again.”

“I will count the heartbeats, Renard,” she murmured, tears in her eyes. “My heart, my body, will ache for you every moment. Everything I do now is for us, for our dream.”

“I know,” he promised, understanding all of the things unsaid. 

“I will survive, darling, with what you’ve taught me. The strength you’ve shown me. _À bientôt_ , my love.”

“ _À bientôt_ , Elektra.”


End file.
